Push Pin Doll
by fukuji mihoko
Summary: Erika and Bernkastel bond the only way Bernkastel knows how. Gory.


**Push Pin Doll**

* * *

><p>"M-master! Master, I'm sorry, please-"<p>

"You dare call me 'Master' even after you've failed me so badly? Tell me, Erika, what right do you have to call yourself my furniture?"

Bernkastel's lips flickered indecisively between a cruel smirk and a grimace of disgust- before, finally, they were cleaved into a strange quasi-expression pertaining to a little of both. Torn between cackling like a Halloween pumpkin and crying with the fury of a young child whose favourite toy had been broken, Bernkastel hovered dangerously between two extreme emotions.

One wrong word from the crumpled, tear-stained girl underneath her foot would tip that delicate balance indefinitely.

Erika's life depended on what she was going to say. It was of the upmost importance she dried her eyes- red raw, stinging, it hurt it hurt it _hurt_- and picked up what little of her dignity that remained; straightening her clothes, trying to smile, _give__ a __winning __speech__ just __like __a great detective would..._

The great detectives, her idols, the people Erika had worshipped before she had even heard of Bernkastel's feared name, would never fall apart like she had.

Like she was.

Master was right.

She was useless.

_Pathetic._

Erika tried to pull herself off the floor- pull herself together; but she was weak, horribly weak. Beatrice had torn her through and through with that red truth, sharper than any sword; a single, prefect bullet that pierced her heart and sent ghostly white rib cage exploding everywhere.

She should be dead.

Why… … wasn't she dead?

She had been at one point- Erika was sure of it; as sure as she was that her name was Furudo Erika and she had blue hair just like her Master… … which, at this point in time, wasn't very.

But she had been dead.

That much was positive.

She wasn't anymore, though, given her heart was now beating- albeit weakly- inside the cage of her chest.

_My._

_What__ an _excellent _observation, __kukukukukyahahaha__…_

Here she was, dragged back from her grave (a corpse adrift in the ocean; not a detective, not at all, _kikikihahahahaha_!) by handfuls of hair so Bernkastel could slam her body against the floor again and again like a child with a doll.

Bernkastel had revived her- for what? So she could taunt her, laugh at her; pull at her clothes, her hair, snap her arm back behind her shoulder at an awkward, inhuman angle so she cried and scuttled away drunkenly like a half-formed baby crab.

But maybe this was not the only reason Bernkastel had resurrected her. M-maybe this was a test.

Maybe, just maybe, Bernkastel was going to give her one more chance, one last chance, and didn't they say the third time was the charm? Erika didn't know who this 'they' were, but it was a common saying; they… … they always said it…

Beatrice had already fled with Battler, bursting into golden butterflies to have their happy ending. They thought their story was over- but Bernkastel would never allow that, not her Master, her kind Master…

Her Master might still save her, she might- i-if only Erika could stop crying (her arm hurt horribly; the knowledge she had failed hurt even more). If she could appeal to Bernkastel maybe she would have one more chance, one more…

"Don't get up," Bernkastel snapped.

Her feet crushed Erika's trembling fingers against the floor; grinding them into something less than bone, more like sand- a-and maybe she was exaggerating, but it hurt so much it felt like each delicate, teeny-tiny bone in her fingers had been shattered, broken, and broken again in a fine frenzy of pain.

"You have no right to stand on your feet as if you were a real human. You lost that right when you _lost_," Bernkastel said, sneering, as her feet continued to crush Erika's fingers. She giggled. "Fufufu~ Yes, this is how furniture should truly look! How dare you pretend you're still human? If you want to find your way back into my good graces you should abandon that pride of yours- furniture needs no pride!"

"Y-yes, of course, a-anything…!"

It hurt to talk- but Erika had to keep trying.

She had to appease her Master.

S-she was furniture, after all, so it was her role in life to please Bernkastel. She had no other reason to be alive… …

_H-haaa…_

_A-a-ahh…_

Tear tracks stained Erika's face. Her clothes were badly rumpled, one pigtail untied, fingers broken more times than she could count, over and over again. Her scalp was bleeding (Bernkastel had smashed- but when, exactly, and for how long, it was impossible to say). Her vision was blurry.

Erika was sticky from blood and damp warm wet and she was loosing consciousness, slipping away; being dragged back under the water, a bloated corpse with empty eyes, because she had fallen from that cruise ship and she had washed up on that island but there was no miracle, miracles don't exist, she had drowned long before and her lungs were filled with salt water… …

_Don't kill me don't kill me don't kill me!_

"Say it then," said Bernkastel softly, voice dangerous, as she grabbed hold of a handful of Erika's hair. "Say it."

"M-master, I-" Gasping, it hurt to breathe; her throat hurt- everything hurt. Was it even worth it, trying to stay alive, when she was less than human, when she didn't have a life and didn't deserve one? "I-I, uu… A-ahh… I-I don't…"

"You really are dense Erikaaa~" Bernkastel said lightly, voice singsong. "Do I have to spell it out for you? If you want me to ever forgive you then you'll have to prove how very sorry you are. Tell me what you are. Tell me. Tell meee."

"I-I, I…"

But she couldn't think. The gears in her mind had ground down; her grey cells had stopped working- perhaps they had been smacked out of her head when it repeatedly met the floor; knowledge bleeding out from her body in garish, spidery trails of blood.

"If you can't think then you're hardly detective material, are you? This pain is nothing; it is only what you deserve. If you can't handle this , then…" Bernkastel's lip curled. "And I was going to give you another chance, but-"

"N-no, Master!" Instinctively, Erika reached forwards, taking hold of Bernkastel's ankle- but she couldn't bend her fingers, with their broken bone, and her grip slackened; hands fell back to the ground. "I-I am worthless! I-I'm not human! Not even furniture! T-that's what I am, it's what I am, I-"

Burning pain seared through Erika's scalp, still bloody, as Bernkastel caught hold of her hair once more- pulling so hard a huge handful of pretty blue hair was wrenched roughly out of the already blood-sodden scalp; a clump, matted with crimson, breaking skin and causing more pain, more screaming.

Erika had heard once you could condition your mind to become accustomed to anything, if only you had experienced it long enough.

That was a lie.

Pain never stopped being painful.

"You really do talk too much Erika. It's such a bore… Ufufu… I suppose you've learnt your lesson, though. Because you're quite right." Her eyes narrowed. "You **are** worthless. You reminded me of that, fufufufu~ Why should I forgive you?"

"M-master, p-please, I…"

"You're a wreck," Bernkastel continued, circling her wailing, crying subordinate who wasn't even able to sit upright. Idly, not giving it much thought, Bernkastel's shoe fell against Erika's chest, stamping down hard- again and again, until the young detective with the lofty dreams began to vomit up blood; spittle rolling down her chin, infused with crimson; more tears, mucus, spit, so boring, so boring! "No detective should look like this. Even defeated they would cry in pain or gnash their teeth. Useless, useless… Quite helpless, pathetic, ahhh!~ The only thing you're good for is the trash heap. That's what you do with junk, riiight?"

_Junk? B-but Master said, she said, I-I don't want to die- if this was further humiliation, then why didn't you let me drown?_

"M-master, you said, you…" Voice thick through blood and spit and pain, coughing and hacking- a tooth came loose, it fell from her lips and down her chin in a red ooze, imagine that, and she didn't even feel it. Talking hurt. "Y-you said you would, one more chance, p-please…"

Bernkastel's voice was quiet, deadly, when she said, "…I say a lot of things. But kind words don't matter in the end, do they? Anybody can spin a string of lovely lies. But you should know by now not to believe them. Why are you so stupid…?"

Something flickered in Bernkastel's eyes; a small piece of warmth, light, a fragment- a glimmer of hope.

But it was only fleeting.

Like the flame of a candle, it gutted out in a matter of seconds.

"I don't show forgiveness to failures. You admitted yourself that you're worthless; a prideless lump of flesh, a sack filled with blood, a human doll… I always wanted such a nice, pretty doll to play with; one that feels pain, one that can hurt and _scream_ but has no will of its own to resist me." That maniacal smile alighting her face, Bernkastel knelt down before Erika- her fingers softly, almost tenderly, running through her hair, caressing her cheek. "But I don't treat my dolls nicely, not at all… Fufufu~ I suppose its vengeance really; a cycle, perhaps… Blame Auaurora; I do apologize… But I'm done playing tea parties with you and brushing your hair."

Bernkastel's voice was horribly polite, almost like a hostess inviting a guest to sit down and take a cup of pickled plum tea, _it__'__s __twenty__ five __yen __a __packet-_but there was that insane, inhuman glint in her eye that made Erika shudder.

A flash of light.

Something sharp.

Something deadly.

Bernkastel held a small sewing needle in one hand. It glittered in her ivory fingers; a long line of black thread already looped through the eye of the needle (it was such a pain trying to thread them just-so; _I __hope __you __appreciate __my __hard __work, __Erika_) and tied to keep it in place.

"Now," said Bernkastel softly, the needle hovering over a random patch of exposed skin, "can you tell me what you do with stuffed toys?"

Erika couldn't answer. Her lips had swollen, her throat closing up, black bruising around her face from kicks and punches and scratches she couldn't even remember receiving; hair sticking to her teary cheeks, blood mottling in her scalp- she couldn't reply, she didn't want to…

"Why… When a toy is broken, you sew it back together. And who knows?"

Idly, Bernkastel pressed the point of the pin against Erika's left eye- delighting as the young girl writhed in pain at the gentle touch; it hadn't even pierced the iris yet.

Haaa, look at her, whining over nothing~ Bernkastel had suffered worse, far worse- and if her furniture could not overcome something so simple as physical pain, she was even more worthless than Bernkastel had once assumed.

Bernkastel dipped her head over her new project, her push pin doll, pin cushion, stuffed toy, blue hair brushing Erika's skin; tickling against her cheeks. Her voice was soft oh so soft, almost loving, just like a mother's, as she said,

"…Maybe I'll be able to fix you yet. It's for your own good, really… … If you get hurt now, then maybe you'll remember not to be so trusting in the future… Kikikikikyahahahahaha!"

Bernkastel didn't push the sewing needle into Erika's eye. She rammed it in with as much force as she had. The human eye was surprisingly resistant- but no eye could withstand being pierced with such strength. The eye tried to resist, but it was futile. There was a small bursting sound, a disappointing kind of 'pop'- akin to stamping on a balloon only half-full with air. Even so, a shower of dark grey viscous fluid began to bubble from the wound- needle buried into the socket by at least two inches. The sac of the eye collapsed upon itself and began to leak over Erika's face; liquid mingling with spit and blood, pooling in her mouth and running down her chin.

Erika screamed, tried to move- but Bernkastel had used some strange magic to render her incapable of twitching, of making a sound. She could only lie there as Bernkastel continued to pierce her ruined, burst cave of an eye with the needle over and over and over again- sewing, sewing so neatly, the black thread through the inside of her head.

Bernkastel would turn Erika into a good girl.

A good puppet.

Just as Aurora had 'improved' her.

* * *

><p><strong>an:**Started this a while ago, but only just finished it.  
>I just want to write some gore, mixed in with a bit of light character study… But I actually think it's pretty tame. So I'm a little disappointed XD<p>

I want to practise writing decent gore, until it make people feel physically sick- kind of like how writing fluff can sometimes make people feel all goey inside XD~ I think it's a noble goal to aim for! ^_^;;

**~renahhchen**** xoxo**


End file.
